Gospel Story Finder

No matter how old we are, if we do not understand and feel what it means to be a child of God, we will not have the courage to endure life's trials. I had such an experience relatively recently. When faced with uncertainty related to a particular situation, and not knowing how to resolve it, I decided to kneel and pray. I simply asked, "Father, Am I your son? and Father, do you love me?" The answer came with such power that I knew that He was listening, and sending the comfort I desperately needed. I did not receive the knowledge as to how to fix the problem at that moment, but I had the courage not to give up, and to keep moving forward.

Sister Portlock sent a copy of the book with Bruce’s testimony to her granddaughter Sherry Siekert in Wisconsin. And a little while later, Sister Portlock got a call from Sherry asking Brother Portlock to come out and baptize her.
“I had been brought up hearing about the Mormons but not knowing anything about them,” said Sherry. “When I got the book, I started to read it—I’ve no idea what made me open the book. I just did. Two elders had come by before and left a pamphlet in the house, and I read it. Maybe that’s one reason I started to read the book.
“After I talked to the missionaries a while, I called my father in Chicago and said, ‘It all sounds so good to me. It’s like everything I’ve always wanted to know all my life.’ My father’s interested in the Church now, too.”
The gospel has had a great impact in Sherry’s life. “I don’t feel like I have to go out and do a lot of wild things to have fun. Fun is being with good friends and family now. I appreciate them more, and I’m not afraid of death anymore. I work in a nursing home, and when I see people dying, I feel like they’re going to something better. I’ve also found that if you stand by your standards and don’t let your peers pressure you into things you know are wrong, they’ll respect you more than if you’d just gone along. This last year since I’ve been baptized has been great.”

Mary Ann Weston, joined the Church at age 23 in Gloucestershire, England, having heard Wilford Woodruff sing, ‘Shall I for fear of feeble man, the Spirit’s course in me restrain?’ Shortly afterwards she married John Davis, but was made a widow within four months when John was kicked and beaten to death by an angry mob. Later, Mary married a widower with five children, and in 1856, eight months pregnant, she drove the first wagon into Utah’s Cache Valley.

When I was seven years old, I was diagnosed with cancer.
During the next year, I went through several rounds of chemotherapy and eventually a big surgery. The surgery left me cancer free until my freshman year of high school, when it came back and spread to my liver, where it remains to this day.
Through this whole process, I’ve become a stronger person as I’ve grown closer to my Savior. There were times when I felt like He was very close to me, telling me to keep fighting because my journey here on earth was not even close to done. These experiences strengthened my testimony of Christ.

One afternoon while sitting on the lawn in front of the Performing Arts Building at Ricks College, waiting for my ride, my neighbor happened to tap me on the shoulder. Connie was a really good friend of my mom’s. I was always jealous of their relationship. I remember overhearing them laughing and talking on the phone. I wished that I could talk to my mom the way Connie did.
Connie sat down beside me. The first thing she said to me was, “I’ll bet I know what you’re doing here.”
“What?” I asked.
“Voice lessons, right?”
“How did you know?”
“Your mother talks a lot about you and your singing. She is really proud of you.”
I was so surprised when she said that. I never knew my mother felt that way. It made me realize that she had been keeping her feelings inside.
That night, as I was climbing the stairs to go to bed, I peeked over the wooden railing to find my mother sitting on the couch. Right then I wanted to tell her that I loved her. It was so hard to even think about saying it. After searching my mind for the words to express myself to her, I just blurted it out, “Mom, I love you!”
It was silent, as quiet as it would be after someone had screamed. I couldn’t tell what she was feeling by the expression on her face. Her big brown eyes filled with tears, the first time I had ever seen my mother’s emotions. With her arms outstretched, she said, “I love you, too.”
Seeing her cry made me want to cry. I ran to her, throwing my arms around her. I never wanted to let go. I couldn’t squeeze hard enough. My heart was full to overflowing as my eyes filled with tears of gratitude. As the tears quietly rolled down my cheeks, I thought of the privilege that was mine to have her as my mother.
I will never forget that. I still remember that night in detail. We talked for two solid hours. It felt so good to let all of my feelings out.
The next day I was to sing at our family reunion. I knew that my mother was going to be there. I wanted to make her proud. After dinner, they announced that I was to sing. I remember being so nervous and turning my head to find my mother looking at me, giving me that certain look of encouragement that I needed.
As I was singing, my throat tightened, and I felt as if my vocal chords had just tied in a knot. It was so hard to sing. I looked at my mom, and I’ll never forget her smile and the nod she gave me. I remember thinking that was better than any command performance I had ever dreamed about. After singing, I sat down beside her and she reached under the table and held my hand.
I’ve learned so much from my mother about being a parent and a friend. Because we took the time to communicate and bridge that gap in our relationship, my mother is my best friend. I’m ready for anything, knowing that my mother is always going to be there for me.
A note from Dianne Francis, Suzanne’s mother: Suzanne wrote this to help other young people see they miss out if they don’t have a close relationship with their mom and dad. Talking helped us realize we were best friends, that we loved each other and enjoyed being together. This knowledge is particularly meaningful to me now, since Suzanne was killed in an automobile accident a few weeks after she wrote this.

The first time I heard my big brother Allan play the piano in sacrament meeting, I wanted to do the same thing. It became one of my Children and Youth goals to play a hymn in sacrament meeting.
Since then, I’ve been studying piano with my uncle Ken. Each day I try to practice for at least 30 minutes. After 10 months, I was able to play the hymn “Joseph Smith’s First Prayer” (Hymns, no. 26).
Then came COVID-19. Church leaders canceled Sunday meetings. They said we should have church at home. Mom and Dad gave us each an assignment. They asked me to play the opening song, and I played “Joseph Smith’s First Prayer.” I was able to accomplish my goal of playing a hymn in sacrament meeting! I could feel the Spirit in our home.

Sometimes temptation to slacken can be almost overwhelming, especially when a cherished goal comes in sight. Like the time Jenny was invited to meet with top deejays from Independent Radio City, Liverpool—on a Sunday.
She wanted so much to be there, supporting her hospital team and meeting influential people, possibly furthering career opportunities. Workmates kept pressing invitations. But she refused, at the same time explaining her feelings for the Sabbath.
“I felt awful letting them down,” she says, “but I’d have felt even more awful letting myself and Heavenly Father down and my workmates, too, in the long run, because they’d have witnessed a bad example.”
And Jenny knows bad examples knock down bridges. As she’s more interested in building them, she rejoins the radio waves with another cheery message.
“Time to close for today, but before we go, I’d like to interview the lady who’s been interviewing me for the past two hours. She, too, is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sometimes known as the Mormons. Let’s ask her a few questions about the Church and a magazine called the New Era. …”

I graduated from flight training and received my silver wings two days before my 20th birthday. Later I was stationed at Langley Field, Virginia, as copilot on a selected B-24 bomber crew trained to use a new secret weapon—radar.
My brother, Colonel Leon C. Packer, was stationed at the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. A much decorated B-24 pilot, he became a brigadier general in the Air Force.
While I was at Langley Field, the war in Europe ended, and so we were ordered to the Pacific. I spent a few days with Leon in Washington before shipping out for combat.
He told me of things he had learned under fire. He flew from North Africa on raids over southern Europe; very few of those planes returned.
On April 16, 1943, he was captain of a B-24 bomber returning to England after a raid in Europe. His plane, the Yard Bird, was heavily damaged by flak and dropped out of formation.
Then they were alone and came under heavy attack from fighters.
His one-page account of that experience says: “Number three engine was smoking and the prop ran away. Number four fuel line was shot out. Right aileron cables and stabilizer cables were shot out. Rudders partially locked. Radio shot out. Extremely large holes in the right wing. Flaps shot out. Entire rear part of the fuselage filled with holes. Hydraulic system shot out. Tail turret out.”
A history of the Eighth Air Force, published just two years ago, gives a detailed account of that flight written by one of the crew.
With one engine on fire, the other three lost power. They were going down. The alarm bell ordered that they bail out. The bombardier, the only one able to get out, parachuted into the English Channel.
The pilots left their seats and made their way toward the bomb bay to bail out. Suddenly Leon heard an engine cough and sputter. He quickly climbed back to his seat and coaxed enough power from the engines to reach the coast of England. Then the engines failed, and they crashed.
The landing gear was shorn off on the brow of a hill; the plane plowed through trees and crumbled. Dirt filled the fuselage.
Amazingly, though some were terribly wounded, all aboard survived. The bombardier was lost, but he probably saved the lives of the other nine. When smoke poured from the engines and a parachute appeared, the fighters stopped their attack.
That was not the only time Leon had crash-landed.
As we visited, he told me how he was able to hold himself together under fire. He said, “I have a favorite hymn”—and he named it—“and when things got rough I would sing it silently to myself, and there would come a faith and an assurance that kept me on course.”
He sent me off to combat with that lesson.
In the spring of 1945 I was able to test that lesson Leon had taught me those months before.
The war in the Pacific ended before we reached the Philippines, and we were ordered to Japan.
One day we flew out of Atsugi airfield near Yokohama in a B-17 bomber bound for Guam to pick up a beacon light.
After nine hours in the air, we let down through the clouds to find ourselves hopelessly lost. Our radio was out. We were, as it turned out, in a typhoon.
Flying just above the ocean, we began a search pattern. In that desperate situation, I remembered the words of my brother. I learned that you can pray and even sing without making a sound.
After some time we pulled up over a line of rocks jutting out of the water. Could they be part of the chain of the Mariana Islands? We followed them. Soon Tinian Island loomed ahead, and we landed with literally seconds of fuel in the tank. As we headed down the runway, the engines one by one stopped.
I learned that both prayer and music can be very silent and very personal.

Most of the time Fish Lake is as smooth as glass, but it can become extremely rough when strong winds come up. Some of my most enjoyable days as a young man were spent fishing with my father and family on Fish Lake in central Utah. We would get up early in the morning, before the sun rose, and guide our boat to the other side of the lake. There we would troll for trout along a beautiful, pine-covered bank. Generally, we would head back to camp around ten o’clock in the morning for breakfast.
One day I was manning the controls of the outboard motor as we started back across the water. A sudden, strong wind turned the mirror-calm water angry and boiling. The roiling waves pushed the boat into a frenzied zigzag course, and I could not hold it steady. My father moved toward me and asked if he should take over. I immediately turned the controls over to him, and within minutes he was steering straight across the lake toward the shore. Our family was astounded and asked our father how he could do this so quickly. He then taught us a great tool for steering a straight course. He pointed out two tall pine trees across the lake near our campsite. He said that by aligning the boat with two large pine trees, he was able to dock near our camp. The trees were a sure marker to guide us to our safe harbor.

A year after I was baptized, I received my mission call and entered the Missionary Training Center in Manila, Philippines. It was there that I made some treasured friends. The first was my companion, Sister Loh, a convert from Singapore. Since I couldn’t speak her language and she didn’t know any Filipino dialects, our only option was to communicate in English.
The 16 days I spent in the MTC were the most spiritual of my life. Although we were far from our families, we still felt loved thanks to a special person—Sister Luda Lee Cottrell, the wife of the MTC president. She was always smiling and happy. She gave us comfort and love and taught me about charity in words and in deed.
On our last night in the MTC, Sister Loh and I wanted to give something to Sister Cottrell as a remembrance and to thank her for all the love she gave us. We didn’t have anything nice to give, so my companion suggested that we sing a song for Sister Cottrell. I immediately agreed. Because we were new in the Church, neither of us was familiar with most of the hymns. We chose to sing “I Am a Child of God” (Hymns, no. 301).
We found Sister Cottrell in her office. We told her of our simple present, and she gladly and patiently listened to us. While Sister Loh and I were singing, a memorable spiritual experience happened. I realized that we were three people of three different races, cultures, and languages. My companion and I were singing in English so that our beloved Sister Cottrell could understand what we were singing.
At that moment I forgot all our differences. The Spirit was telling me that what we are on earth doesn’t really matter, because the three of us are literally daughters of Heavenly Father. The Spirit taught me why and what brought the three of us there. It is the gospel of Jesus Christ. It is the gospel that brought Sister Loh and me to the MTC. It is the gospel that made Sister Cottrell such a wonderful, loving person. It is the gospel that gave the three of us the knowledge that we are all children of God.

Seminary students know there is an art to breaking in a new copy of the scriptures. The Ada Branch of the Norman Oklahoma Stake demonstrated the technique at a Super Saturday.
At the beginning of the seminary year, Jim, Alice, Chris, and Santee purchased brand-new copies with a sturdy black cover of imitation leather, designed to withstand being handled, used, held, and opened quickly in scripture chases; studied in cars on the way to Super Saturdays; and carried to class. When new, the pages stick together a little around the edges until fingers are slid between to separate them. Ada Branch’s scriptures had no sticky pages.
But still a few more refinements need to be made. The Norman seminary has a rule against using tags or bookmarks for marking references, but if in the heat of a scripture chase competition your book just happens to fall open to the right place because the page has been wrinkled, that’s fair. The pages are high quality, tissue-thin paper designed to resist tearing. They can withstand a little wrinkling. Of course, if you don’t know the reference, you won’t know which wrinkled page is the correct page. So Ada Branch was studying hard, learning references.
Seminary scriptures reach their ultimate usefulness when the student knows the feel and form of his own book so well that in looking up verses, it responds like a well-oiled instrument, an instrument of learning.
The Bibles of the Norman Oklahoma Stake seminary students were well oiled with use and study. Hands were itching to flip the pages to the correct reference. Students were on their toes while sitting down. It was Super Saturday with three favorite seminary activities—scripture chase, seminary bowl (which combines a New Era bowl with seminary lesson review), and a dance.
A Super Saturday in Oklahoma is like Super Saturdays all over. Seminary students drive miles from all over the far-flung stake and gather to compete and get to know each other better. During the car ride to the stake center, students quiz each other on past seminary lessons and recent copies of the New Era that might be used for questions in the seminary bowl. They create memory hooks to remember scripture references. “For the scripture about clean hands and pure heart,” said Chris Wade of the Ada Branch, “just remember palms to remind you of Psalms.”
“How am I going to remember the reference for the scripture that says, ‘I know that my redeemer liveth’?” asked another member of the Ada Branch team.
“I know how we can remember,” said Santee Wade, also of the Ada Branch. “Since it’s Job 19:25–26, how about this? I make 25 to 26 dollars an hour on 19th Street at my job.”
Making the extra effort to get an edge over their competition means extra study. One girl was overheard saying, “I studied every minute I could this week in between classes at school.” Since seminary is either held early-mornings or taken by home-study, it’s hard to get together with your team to review. Chris and Brad Hammock of the Noble Ward recruited their mother and sister to give them clues about things they studied in seminary and read in the New Era.
Competition is fun for these students, and, as Lana Lazenby, Norman Second Ward, put it, “It makes everyone study harder.”
The competition, held at the stake center, is split between two rooms. Home-study seminary students first compete in scripture chase while the early-morning students are holding a seminary bowl. The bowl competition consists of three teams of four with substitutes coming in and out between questions at each captain’s discretion. On the table in front of each student is a box with a button and a light. A quick tap on the button sounds a buzzer and lights the light. The first one to hit his button gets to answer the question. If he is wrong, then the buttons are reactivated and the other teams are given a second chance to answer.
The director asks a toss-up question. The team member that pushes the first button must answer the question without any help from team members. If the answer is correct, then the team is given a bonus question and the team may confer before giving the answer.
As each team seemed to gain momentum, the questions and answers flew fast and furious. “What project were the youth of the Bountiful Stake working on in the New Era article entitled ‘Captains of Ten’?” “Who became leader of the Israelites after Moses?” “What was the theme of the message by Elder Thomas Monson in the New Era article called ‘Crisis at the Crossroads’?” “Name the first five books of the Old Testament.” With good-natured groans at answers that just missed the mark and cheers with correct responses, the competition was exciting. After competing for her team, Marcia Garrett, Shawnee Ward, said, “I think this is great. But I read everything that they didn’t ask.” And Sandra Johnson, also of the Shawnee Ward, was plagued by a problem that many experience when under pressure. “With all these questions, my mind went blank.”
One team that did well had prepared. “We were hot,” said Melissa LeBlanc, Noble Ward. “We’ve been practicing on questions for the past few weeks.”
Although Danny Ellis’s Noble Ward team didn’t win the bowl competition, he summed up the feeling of many of the participants. “We got beat,” said Danny, “but we didn’t lose.” There are no losers when students are learning about the gospel.
At the Norman Oklahoma Stake Super Saturdays, competition is good-natured and fun. It’s a chance to review seminary lessons and get to know other members of the stake.
A New Era bowl is competition between two or more teams consisting of four members each. Questions based on selected copies of the New Era are asked by a moderator, and the first person from any team to answer correctly scores a certain number of points for his team. The team is then entitled to answer a bonus question. The team members may confer about it, but the answer is given by the captain.
Organization. The bowl should have a moderator who asks the questions, a judge who decides if an answer is adequate, a timer/scorekeeper, and as many teams of four as can be comfortably accommodated. If too many teams want to compete, perhaps two bowls could be held.
Game Apparatus. The ideal situation is to have an arrangement of buzzers with lights and a button in front of each contestant. When the first light is activated, it electronically exempts all other lights and buzzers from working. If this type of equipment is not available, the first person to raise his hand would be called on. The judge would decide whose hand was up first.
Time. The bowl can be held in two halves of about ten minutes each. Substitutions to teams can be made quickly only between questions, but the clock is not stopped. A short intermission of a minute or two can be held in between halves to let the teams relax for a moment.
Scoring. A toss-up question or question open to everyone is worth ten points. The player who hits his button first must answer the question immediately with out help from his team members. If he answers incorrectly, his team is penalized five points, and the other teams are given an opportunity to answer the question. If the other team also answers incorrectly, they are not penalized. The moderator then gives the correct answer and goes on to the next question.
If the player answers the question correctly, his team is awarded the ten points. The team may now answer the bonus question, which is worth five points. There is no penalty for answering the bonus question incorrectly. All team members may confer before the captain answers the question.
The game is over when the time runs out.

It was September when they moved in. I remember because summer heat clung to the apartment house like honey to a spoon. I was watering my African violets and the sudden noise—feet racing, doors slamming, voices shouting—came through my open window. I slammed it down loudly and suffered with the lack of ventilation, hoping they’d heard the sound of my displeasure. If so, it had little effect on the noise level.
I stumped around the apartment, fuming as I thumped needlepoint pillows and moved china figurines away from the edges of shelves. This had been a quiet apartment house, mostly older folks who kept to themselves. Old Mrs. Sakovich had been the perfect upstairs neighbor—quiet, with hardly any visitors. When the family who’d never come to visit put her in the nursing home I’d held my breath, wondering what my new upstairs neighbor would be like. I’d never expected an invasion.
As the month went on I gradually sorted out the noises. The O’Meara family (their name was on the mailbox) had four children. Imagine—four children! And in a two-bedroom apartment! I tried complaining to the management, but they said I’d soon get used to the noise.
I didn’t.
Luckily three of the children were in school. Lucy, the teenager, escorted Brian and Todd down the stairs every morning at 8:00, loaded with backpacks, lunches, and (horrors) musical instrument cases. Their father followed at 8:30. A blessed silence was mine then, except when the baby was cross, until 3:10 when they’d all come roaring up the stairs, seemingly recharged by their encounter with education.
Then Lucy would be practicing the flute, or playing tapes of … well, I suppose she thought it was music. Sometimes the ceiling would shake over my kitchen, and I’d know she was dancing. Todd and Brian raced cars, making the appropriate sounds, and the baby screamed. Then pots and pans banged as Mrs. O’Meara encouraged family participation in preparing dinner. Even when Mr. O’Meara returned to the hubbub, the noise remained steady until bedtime.
When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I’d bring out the broom and thump on the ceiling. This usually earned me about 15 minutes of unfamiliar silence before the noise began to build again. Sometimes I’d tromp upstairs and pound on their door. Mrs. O’Meara would promise to keep the noise down, but I could see the doubt in my eyes reflected in her own.
I’m sure her children thought I was the wicked witch of the West, especially with the broom thumpings. Still, they always smiled when I met them in the hallway or on the stairs. It didn’t make any sense.
Mr. O’Meara smiled too. He insisted on bringing my garbage down to the dumpster every morning on his way to work. Lucy opened doors for me and helped me upstairs with my groceries whenever she got the chance. I suspect she was the one that left the cookies on my doorstep the morning after what must have been a teenage birthday party (or a demolition derby). Still, I would have given anything for a little peace and quiet.
Then came Christmas. Now, instead of one child at home there were four. So much for my peaceful mornings. The family bellowed carols at any opportunity, and when I met them in the hallway they giggled with Christmas secrets.
Bringing my mail up one day, I met Todd on the landing.
“Look!” he said, proudly. He was holding some unknown childish creation. “We made it in kindergarten!”
It was a lopsided thing of egg carton and foil, hanging on a long string.
“It’s the star of Bethlehem,” he explained earnestly. “For Christmas.”
“It’s very nice,” I said insincerely, stepping around him.
“Merry Christmas!” he exclaimed as I closed the door behind me.
I made my traditional sweet bread to give to neighbors. I even hauled two loaves upstairs to the O’Meara apartment on the day before Christmas.
“Merry Christmas,” I said, in a grudging display of holiday cheer as Lucy opened the door, letting a blast of sound and cinnamon loose in the hallway. I thrust out the loaves.
“Why, Mrs. Johnson, how kind! Mother’s bathing the baby, but I know she’d like to thank you herself. Won’t you come in?”
Hardly, I thought, looking past her at the whirlwind of activity going on. “No, thank you. I need to get back downstairs. Nice wreath.” I turned to go.
“Don’t you have a wreath?”
It was Todd, peeking under Lucy’s elbow. Before I could answer, he was gone. Seconds later he returned dragging a piece of green construction paper that had been folded into a tube, clipped, flattened, and adorned with red construction paper holly berries.
“For you!” He thrust it into my hand and dived back into the holiday turmoil.
I looked at Lucy. She was smiling. “You’d better take it,” she advised. “Todd thinks Christmas isn’t Christmas without sharing. He must really like you—that wreath is one of his prized possessions. He was going to hang it on the tree as part of our Christmas program tonight.”
A sudden idea seemed to occur to her. “Mrs. Johnson, how would you like to spend Christmas Eve with us? We always have a family program, and I know Mother would want to invite you.”
I made my excuses—too old, too tired—then, clutching my “wreath” I headed downstairs again.
Christmas program! It seemed that even on Christmas Eve I wasn’t going to get any rest!
My own family was grown and far away. They’d call tomorrow, but tonight they were busy with their own families. I usually went to bed early on Christmas Eve. Memories were depressing when there was no one to share them with.
Darkness fell and I looked out on streets abuzz with Christmas cheer. Everyone, it seemed, had a place to go. I longed for the oblivion of sleep, but from upstairs I could hear the sound of chairs being rearranged and children giggling.
Oh no. Now we’ll hear those noisy Santa Claus songs and the sound of over-stimulated children preparing for the next day’s toy frenzy. I got out the broom and braced for the worst.
When it began, I hardly recognized it—the silver sound of a single flute playing “Silent Night.” I stood, transfixed. On the second verse the flute was joined by soft voices, young and old.
The sound was so gentle. I pushed up the window, hearing it squeak in protest, and leaned out, looking up. I was afraid the sound would silence them. After all, I’d yelled up from the window often enough. But the singing continued.
Then the flute led them into “Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful” and suddenly I knew how the shepherds felt that night long ago when unexpected joy came from above. I was startled to hear my own rusty voice joining in.
Then the star appeared. Yes, really. It was lopsided, made of egg cartons and foil, and dangling on a long string. Something was attached to the string.
I reached out and drew it in, removing the note. I read it and smiled.
Why choose the loneliness of old memories when there are new ones to be made?
I listened a moment longer to the angel voices from on high; then I released the star and saw it drawn gently upward.
Grabbing my wreath, I hurried out the door and followed the star.

One more story - President Isaia wanted to give some of his land to the Church to build a Chapel. The village Matai said he couldn't do that - only Catholics and the LMS were allowed in that village. President Isaia said it was his land and he could give it to the Church. Another long story shortened. The Matai had made it very clear the Chapel could not be built. A fourth and final letter was sent to President Isaia by a special messenger from the village's council of chiefs. The letter contained threats of what would happen if the construction went forward. Brother Isaia said, "I talked with my wife and children. My answer to the threats was that if I die, I die with a testimony of the Church. We prayed. I put on clean garments, I put on long pants instead of a lava lava because I did not want the villagers to see my garments. My brother and some others came with bush knives and said they would protect me. But I told them the Lord was watching." The villagers arrived about 12:00 pm in a pickup truck. They put me in the truck, tied me with ropes, and drove me to the village green. My hands and feet were tied. The young untitled men were instructed to collect wood. I still remember the faces of the two men who lit the fire...I was lying on the ground facing up. The firewood and dry coconut leaves were placed around me and on top of me. I could see through the pieces of wood the faces of those who were there...During this time I felt as if I was being held - as if I was being embraced. The wood was lit on fire and then it began to rain. They tried seven times to light the fire - I was like that about five hours."

My own family, anticipating the celebration of this 90-year milestone in my life, started helping me remember and appreciate the experiences of my long life. For example, my niece gathered and shared with me several letters that I had written to my parents nearly 70 years ago from my marine outpost on the island of Saipan in the Pacific during World War II.
One of these letters particularly caught my eye. It was a letter I wrote to my mother for her to open and read on Mother’s Day 1945. I would like to share some excerpts with you in the hope you will see why I will ever be grateful to my loving father and mother for the lessons I learned from their teaching in the home. My parents are the defining example I retain of goodly parents who placed their marriage and the proper rearing of children as their highest priority.
My Mother’s Day 1945 letter began:
“Dear Mom,
“For the last four years I have had the great misfortune of spending Mother’s Day away from you. Each year I have wanted to be with you and tell you just how I love you and how much I think of you, but since it is once again impossible, I will have to do the next best thing and send my thoughts through the mail.
“This year more than any of the others I can see just what having a wonderful mother has done for me. First of all, I miss the little things you used to do for me. Whenever I got out of bed in the morning, I never had to worry about whether I’d find a clean shirt and clean socks. All that I had to do is open a drawer, and I would find them. At mealtime I always knew that I would find something I liked, prepared the best way possible. At night I always knew that I would find clean sheets on my bed and just the right amount of covers to keep me very comfortable. Living at home was really a great pleasure.”
When I read these first two paragraphs of the letter, I was shocked by how sentimental they sounded. Perhaps living in a tent and sleeping under a mosquito net on a camp cot had my thoughts returning to my very special home.
My letter to my mother continued:
“But deeper is the feeling for you because of the example you set for me. Life was made so enjoyable for us as a family that we wanted to follow in your footsteps, to continue on through experiencing the same joy that had been ours in our younger days. You always found time to take the family into the canyon, and we could count on you to do anything from climbing mountains to playing ball with us. You and Dad were never going on vacations alone. The family was always with you. Now that I am away from home, I always like to talk about my home life because it was so enjoyable. I couldn’t turn from your teachings now because my actions would reflect on your character. Life is a great challenge to me to be worthy to be called the son of Nora Sonne Perry. I am very proud of this title, and I hope that I will always be worthy of it.
“I hope that next year finds me with you to show you the good time I have been planning to show you on Mother’s Day for the past four years.
“May the Lord bless you for all the wonderful things you have done for this troubled world.
“All my love, Tom”
As I reread my letter, I also reflected on the culture of the family, the ward, the stake, and the community in which I was raised.
Culture is defined as the way of life of a people. There is a unique gospel culture, a set of values and expectations and practices common to all members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This gospel culture, or way of life, comes from the plan of salvation, the commandments of God, and the teachings of living prophets. It is given expression in the way we raise our families and live our individual lives.
The first instruction to Adam for his mortal responsibility is found in Genesis 2:24: “Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh.”
The joining together of a man and a woman to be legally and lawfully wed not only is preparation for future generations to inherit the earth, but it also brings the greatest joy and satisfaction that can be found in this mortal experience. This is especially true when the powers of the priesthood proclaim a marriage to be for time and for all eternity. Children born to such marriages have a security that is found nowhere else.
Lessons taught in the home by goodly parents are becoming increasingly important in today’s world, where the influence of the adversary is so widespread. As we know, he is attempting to erode and destroy the very foundation of our society—the family. In clever and carefully camouflaged ways, he is attacking commitment to family life throughout the world and undermining the culture and covenants of faithful Latter-day Saints. Parents must resolve that teaching in the home is a most sacred and important responsibility. While other institutions such as church and school can assist parents to “train up a child in the way he [or she] should go” (Proverbs 22:6), this responsibility ultimately rests on the parents. According to the great plan of happiness, it is goodly parents who are entrusted with the care and development of Heavenly Father’s children.
In our remarkable parental stewardship, there are many ways that goodly parents can access the help and support they need to teach the gospel of Jesus Christ to their children. Let me suggest five things parents can do to create stronger family cultures:
First, parents can pray in earnest, asking our Eternal Father to help them love, understand, and guide the children He has sent to them.
Second, they can hold family prayer, scripture study, and family home evenings and eat together as often as possible, making dinner a time of communication and the teaching of values.
Third, parents can fully avail themselves of the Church’s support network, communicating with their children’s Primary teachers, youth leaders, and class and quorum presidencies. By communicating with those who are called and set apart to work with their children, parents can provide essential understanding of a child’s special and specific needs.
Fourth, parents can share their testimonies often with their children, commit them to keep the commandments of God, and promise the blessings that our Heavenly Father promises His faithful children.
Fifth, we can organize our families based on clear, simple family rules and expectations, wholesome family traditions and rituals, and “family economics,” where children have household responsibilities and can earn allowances so that they can learn to budget, save, and pay tithing on the money they earn.
These suggestions for creating stronger family cultures work in tandem with the culture of the Church. Our strengthened family cultures will be a protection for our children from “the fiery darts of the adversary” (1 Nephi 15:24) embedded in their peer culture, the entertainment and celebrity cultures, the credit and entitlement cultures, and the Internet and media cultures to which they are constantly exposed. Strong family cultures will help our children live in the world and not become “of the world” (John 15:19).
President Joseph Fielding Smith taught: “It is the duty of parents to teach their children these saving principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ, so that they will know why they are to be baptized and that they may be impressed in their hearts with a desire to continue to keep the commandments of God after they are baptized, that they may come back into his presence. Do you, my good brethren and sisters, want your families, your children; do you want to be sealed to your fathers and your mothers before you … ? If so, then you must begin by teaching at the cradle-side. You are to teach by example as well as precept.”
The proclamation on the family says:
“Husband and wife have a solemn responsibility to love and care for each other and for their children. ‘Children are an heritage of the Lord’ (Psalm 127:3). Parents have a sacred duty to rear their children in love and righteousness, to provide for their physical and spiritual needs, and to teach them to love and serve one another, observe the commandments of God, and be law-abiding citizens wherever they live. …
“… By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families. Mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children. In these sacred responsibilities, fathers and mothers are obligated to help one another as equal partners.”
I believe it is by divine design that the role of motherhood emphasizes the nurturing and teaching of the next generation. But it is wonderful to see husbands and wives who have worked out real partnerships where they blend together their influence and communicate effectively both about their children and to their children.
The onslaught of wickedness against our children is more subtle and brazen than it has ever been. Building a strong family culture adds another layer of protection for our children, insulating them from worldly influences.
God bless you goodly mothers and fathers in Zion. He has entrusted to your care His eternal children. As parents we partner, even join, with God in bringing to pass His work and glory among His children. It is our sacred duty to do our very best. Of this I testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Recently, I had surgery to remove my tonsils. What I remember most about the experience is the blessing that my dad and another worthy priesthood holder gave me in the hospital before my surgery. Before the blessing I was scared, but after the blessing I was brave and my fear went away. I have faith in Heavenly Father and know He uses priesthood blessings to encourage, heal, and strengthen His children.

Osc and I both ordered the Porter House special. Carol wanted filet mignon, and Marie ordered salisbury steak. After the waitress had taken our orders, Marie said, “Did you hear what Brother Craig did at Mutual last week?” Osc and Carol shook their heads. “He found out that last month it was the teachers from the Fourth Ward who started playing basketball in the cultural hall before our Relief Society was finished.”
Osc and Carol listened with interest, but I had no idea what Marie was talking about. She was speaking English, but most of it didn’t make a bit of sense to me.
“Well,” she continued, “one of their basketballs bounced right onto the table that held all the cakes the women had made in their cake-decorating lesson and smashed almost all of them.”
“Oh, man,” said Osc, “I bet Sister Hansen went nuts.”
Marie nodded. “She tried to make the boys stop, but they just grabbed the ball and ran out of the cultural hall, tracking frosting all over the building.”
“So that’s where all that mess came from,” said Carol.
“Right,” nodded Marie.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Wait a minute; wait a minute,” I interrupted. “Will somebody please explain what in the world you’re talking about?”
“Church stuff, Jared,” said Osc.
“I figured that much, but I never knew Mormons had nuns and monks.”
“Huh?” we said in unison.
“Nuns and monks. You know, sisters and brothers.”
Marie giggled and Carol tried to hide her grin behind her napkin.
“Don’t be such a Gentile,” said Osc. “We’re talking about people in our ward. Mormons call each other brother and sister. Like Carol, she’s Sister Lunt. Marie is Sister Allen, and to them I’m Brother Whitman. Understand?”
“Okay, I get it,” I said. “But I don’t understand what a bunch of teachers were doing in a cultural hall playing basketball. Imagine what would happen if some faculty members got caught dribbling a basketball in the school auditorium?”
Osc sighed. “A cultural hall is a Mormon gym.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. And teachers aren’t teachers. They’re 14- and 15-year-old guys who have the Aaronic Priesthood.”
“Give me a break. High school guys have the priesthood in your church?”
“Sure,” said Osc. “I’m a priest.”
“Oh, really, Father Whitman? Where’s your collar?”
“Come on, Jared. Not a Catholic priest. It’s different with Mormons.” He looked at Carol who was biting her lower lip to keep from laughing. “Sister Lunt, would you mind translating our Mormon talk for Jared tonight? I’m not getting through to him.”
“Sure, Brother Whitman, I’ll be glad to.”
Our dinner arrived and interrupted the conversation. It took us nearly an hour to work our way through the steaks, baked potatoes, salads, and vegetables. But dinner was fantastic, and not because I was sitting in front of the largest and most delicious steak I had ever seen. Osc, Carol, and Marie were great company, too, even if they were Mormons.
While the waitress was clearing away the remains of our feast, Marie and Carol excused themselves so they could go make themselves even more beautiful for part two of the double date.
“Great meal, Osc. This is a blast,” I said, after they’d left.
“Hey, what else could you expect from your best friend?”
“So what’s next,” I inquired.
Osc slid a toothpick into his mouth. “I told you this was a steak night, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, and we’ve had our steaks. Now what?”
“Another steak,” was his reply.
“No way, man. I can’t eat another bite. I thought we’d be going to a movie or something.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Carol and I planned this. It’s steak night all the way.”
When the girls came back, we paid our bill, left the restaurant, and drove until we came to a large building. “This is the place, guys,” said Osc, as he pulled into the crowded parking lot.
I couldn’t believe it. These guys had led me into a Mormon trap! “Hold it,” I said. “I’m not going to church with you. Osc, you said this was going to be a steak night.”
“Yeah, a steak dinner and a stake dance. This building is a stake—s-t-a-k-e—center, Jared, and there’s a dance here tonight.”
“Oh, a dance.” I blushed for doubting my friends. “Sorry I panicked, but I figured you guys were dragging me to some sort of religious revival. Let me guess. The dance is in the cultural hall.”
Osc chuckled and Carol said, “Very good, Jared. You’re finally getting the hang of Mormon-talk.”
I wasn’t sure what to expect from my first Mormon dance. Waltzes, maybe. Or if it was really wild, a square dance. But the music coming through the door of the cultural hall sounded familiar enough, and the few kids I saw in the lobby looked like regular kids.
On the inside, though, it didn’t look like any dance I’d ever seen before. The first thing I noticed were the lights—they were still on. They weren’t glaring bright, but they were on. And the music was different too. At most school dances, the music’s loud enough to pry the floorboards loose; this music was loud, but not enough to melt anybody’s eardrums.
As it turned out, we danced every dance that night, and I had the time of my life. After it was over, Osc drove us all home. When he got to my house, the first stop, he parked the car, turned around from the front seat, handed Carol a shopping bag, and said, “Go ahead, Carol.”
She reached into the bag and pulled out two packages, each wrapped in the Sunday comics. “These are mementos of tonight,” she said, handing one to Marie and one to me.
“The finishing touch on steak night,” Osc added. “And yours has something special inside, Jared. You just can’t open it until you get home.”
I said good night and went inside. I went straight to my bedroom and opened the package. Inside was an aluminum tent stake with “Steak-Stake Night” written on one side in light red nail polish and “Group Date #1” written on the other side. Also in the wrapping was a navy-blue paperback book, the Book of Mormon. I propped the stake up among the trophies on top of my dresser and flopped down on my bed to look at the book my friends had given me.
Pasted inside the front cover was a photo of the three of them taken at one of those instant photo booths. Under the photo was a message Osc had written:
Dear Jared,
This book contains the precious truths of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and it’s a book that each one of us has studied and read. We know it’s true, and we know its principles are the keys to happiness, not only in this life, but in the life to come. As your friends, we hope you’ll read it, think about it, and pray about it. If some parts are difficult to understand, we’ll be glad to explain them to you or find someone who can. We know if you’ll read and pray about this book, you’ll learn for yourself that it’s true.
Your Mormon friends,Oscar, Carol, and Marie
I closed the book and lay on my bed thinking about the three of them. Oscar, Carol, and Marie were special people, some of the best I’d ever known. I wondered what made them that way. Whatever it was, I was glad to have friends like them, friends who cared enough about me to share something that was obviously very important to them.
It was getting late, so I put the Book of Mormon on my desk and started getting ready for bed. Tomorrow I’d start reading that book to see if I could find out what makes it—and my friends—so special.

I remember the story of a young man who went out for quarterback on a football team. He was the third-string quarterback. He was at every practice. He suited up for every game. But at the games it seemed the coach forgot who he was—he didn’t get to play at all during the season. He was on a good team, though, and they were playing for the championship. He said to himself, “Well, this is great. I’ve got the best seat in the house.” And so he went out and put on his uniform, did the exercises, and felt very comfortable. When it came game time he found his place on the bench. He got a nice warm blanket, wrapped himself in it, and even called the hot dog-boy over and had a hot dog. He took his shoes off. It would be lots more comfortable watching the ball game without his cleats on. And so he sat there in that condition. The first-string quarterback didn’t move the team very well. The coach brought out the second-string quarterback, but he was having a worse time. Then, out of the sounds of the stadium, there came this young man’s name. He jumped off the bench and ran onto the field in his white socks. The whole stadium had their eyes glued on those white socks and wondered what the coach was doing. Of course, the play was a disaster. Time-out was called, and this young man ran off the field to put on his shoes. But the call didn’t come again. He had had his chance. Life does not give too many chances. You really have to be ready when your time comes. Don’t be caught with your shoes off when your chance comes.

I remember standing before the bier of a young man whose life had been bright with hope and promise. He had been an athlete in his high school, and an excellent university student. He was a friendly, brilliant young man. He had gone into the mission field. He and his missionary companion were riding down the highway when a car, coming from the opposite direction, moved into their path and crashed into them. He died in the hospital an hour later. As I stood at the pulpit and looked into the faces of his father and his mother, there came then into my heart a conviction that I had seldom before felt with such assurance. I knew with certainty, as I looked across his casket, that this young man had not died, but had merely been transferred to another field of labor in the eternal ministry of the Lord.

We grew so close together over the years as friends that even after I was married she continued to teach me great lessons. We lived next door to each other. When I would return home from work, I had to pass her home before going into my home. During her later years she had arthritis, and I always worried about her health. One of the first days after my wife and I were married and I arrived home from work, I stopped in at my mother’s house before going to my own. I will never forget the experience of having her take me by the arm and escort me right back out of her house with this counsel, “You go see your wife first and tell her you love her. Then you can come and see me.”

Cory stared at the clock in the Primary room. “When will this be over?” he wondered.
Now that Cory was in middle school, Primary didn’t seem as fun anymore. He knew all the scripture stories and the answers to all the questions. He thought the games and songs were for little kids.
Cory slumped in his chair. Then he remembered something he wanted to ask Austin about his new computer game. “I need your help on this one level,” he whispered.
Sister Evans tapped Cory on his shoulder. “Please sing,” she said. Cory waited for Sister Evans to look away and then finished talking to Austin.
On the drive home from church, Mom asked, “How was Primary?”
“Fine,” Cory said. He didn’t remember much about it.
“Sister Evans asked me if she could come over for a visit tomorrow after school,” Mom said.
Cory swallowed hard. “Um, OK.”
The next day at school, Cory worried about what Sister Evans would say. “She probably wants to remind me that I shouldn’t talk during Primary,” he thought.
That afternoon, Cory was playing his new game when the doorbell rang. He looked up to see Mom inviting Sister Evans in.
“Hi, Cory,” Sister Evans said. She sat down and got right to the point. “How can I help make Primary a place you want to be?”
Cory started to say he liked Primary fine, but it seemed like Sister Evans wanted to hear what he really thought. So he told her everything—how he knew all the stories and how the games and songs were for younger kids.
“I think I understand,” Sister Evans said. “You’ve been in Primary a long time. Sometimes when we do the same things over again, it can seem boring.” Cory nodded. “Well,” Sister Evans said, “I don’t want Primary to be boring. I brought a scripture to share with you. I think it might help.”
Sister Evans opened her scriptures. “This was written by the Apostle Paul,” she said. “See if you can tell what he’s talking about.” Then she read, “‘But now are they many members, yet but one body.
“‘And the eye cannot say unto the hand, I have no need of thee: nor again the head to the feet, I have no need of you. …
“‘Now ye are the body of Christ, and members in particular’” (1 Corinthians 12:20–21, 27).
Cory asked, “When it says ‘members,’ is that like members of the Church?”
“Exactly,” Sister Evans said. “Just like every part of the body is important, every person is needed at church. In Primary, you can be like one of those hands that Paul wrote about—a helping hand.”
“But I don’t teach the lesson or lead the songs,” Cory said.
“But when you answer questions, it helps others learn,” Sister Evans said. “And when you sing your best, the younger children feel more confident.”
“I’ll try,” Cory said. “Maybe you can call me your ‘right-hand man,’” he said, smiling.
On Sunday, Cory felt more excited to go to Primary than he had for a long time. He answered questions, and he tried to sing well so that the younger kids could hear the words.
Later, Sister Evans pointed to a boy in the Sunbeam class who was crying. “Would you mind sitting by Steven today?” Sister Evans asked Cory.
Cory sat next to Steven and helped him sing the songs. When Cory folded his arms for the prayer, Steven did too.
On the way home, Cory felt a little more grown-up. He had always known he was important to Heavenly Father. But now that he was a “right-hand man” in Primary, he knew he was also an important part of Heavenly Father’s Church.